


Good for nothing, good enough for me

by thraxios



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thraxios/pseuds/thraxios
Summary: Noctis gets his arm broken during training one day, because,clearly, losing Insomnia (his father, his fiancee, his friends, his everything) just wasn't enough.The others help him with his hurt, both outside and in.Set a little bit after the boys leave Insomnia for the second time.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stoppin on by! I'm planning 3 more chapters after this one, with each focusing on one of the other chocobros. Prompto is up first, with Ignis on deck, and Gladio setting up the finale.
> 
> I'm a little disappointed with the way writers handled Noctis's relationship with Gladio in game, so I thought this fic would be a good way for me to explore how the two of them would navigate an incident like this. Of course, both Prompto and Ignis were just begging to be written too... So here we are. Enjoy!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [@beartopiary](http://beartopiary.tumblr.com/)

The taste of copper mixed with sweat explodes in Noct's mouth, ears ringing and vision failing for a split second as Gladio's fist slams into his cheek. Wonderful--not even 30 seconds in and he's already fucking up this match.

Noctis can feel his sword blink out of existence as he scrambles away from the attack, the weight slipping from his hand. "Gods," he curses, gritting his teeth through the pain and bringing his blade back into his grip through sheer willpower.

"Wake up, princess," Gladio taunts, the hilt of his massive weapon materializing in his hands. He hefts the weapon up onto his shoulders, shooting Noct a skeptical look.

It's harder than it usually is for Noctis to hold onto his blade, and he briefly considers calling the match off--but images of his father, fragments of all the news they've heard on the radios, and memories of the day they'd left Insomnia all flit through his mind--and the overwhelming frustration immediately fuels his fighting spirit again. He shakes his head, eagerly trying to get those thoughts out of his brain. He needs to hit _something_ , and if it can’t be Niflheim soldiers, it may as well be his ready and willing sparring partners.

Off to his right, Prompto waits with his gun cocked and poised to shoot. "Need a breather, buddy?" he shouts out, and Noctis can't keep the growl in. "Like hell I do," he hisses under his breath, and he rapidly turns and flings his sword at his best friend. The weapon loses its physicality, blinking out of the world, and Noctis lets his magic carry him through the warp. A second later, he's pinning down his opponent, sword thrust into the ground beside Prompto's head. Prompto struggles to breathe beneath him, chest shocked from the impact, and Noctis stands to face the others as quickly as he can. He warps away to assess the situation; Gladio is approaching from the left, and Ignis--

Ignis is somehow beside him, fist coming up from below to sink into Noct's chin, flinging his head back and resummoning the stars that had clouded his vision earlier. Again, he can't quite see straight, can't quite hear right (his skull feels like its _vibrating_ ), but he's familiar enough with Ignis's voice to know that the man is in the middle of chastising him for inattention. " _You must always be aware of your surroundings_ ," or some other lesson he's heard thirty thousand times before.

His grip tightens around the hilt of his sword, and he rolls off to the side so he can strike at Ignis from behind. His tutor’s daggers catch the sunlight when they materialize, and the man effortlessly deflects Noct’s blows, probably having already predicted the attack. Ignis comes in for a second assault, Gladio starts to dash towards them with his greatsword aimed directly at him, and Prompto once again has his gun pointed and ready to shoot.

It's a struggle to decide where to focus his attention, so Noctis instinctively phases to the right just as the sound of the gun’s ignition reaches his ears. The rubber bullet shoots past his left arm. One of Ignis’s daggers comes in fast and he again phases at the last second, this time finding himself directly in the path of Gladio’s greatsword.

Well, not hurting was nice while it lasted. Gladio's oncoming downward strike hits its target with flying colors, causing him to stagger backwards. Pain blossoms throughout his right arm and torso and he briefly lets out a haggard scream, stumbling under the attack.

He tries to phase again, desperate to escape the onslaught, but he can feel the magic stuttering weakly in him. Prompto’s next rubber bullet hits him square in his shoulder, amplifying the pain until it's like a wall of white noise and static clouding his senses. His sword flickers briefly in and out of existence, and the blade dematerializes before his eyes despite his desperate attempts to hold onto it. To top it all off, Ignis’s next attack makes a spectacular landing directly on a pressure point in his elbow, pain immediately reverberating up and down his arm.

His next scream is significantly longer, and he weakly waves his left hand in surrender, tears blurring his vision with the pain. The expression on Ignis’s face softens just the slightest bit as the man’s daggers slip from the physical world. Fan-fucking-tastic--all he wanted was to get some of his pent up anger out with a little bit of intensive sparring, but this match is over before even five minutes have passed. _Fucked it up again, Noct_ , he thinks, _all you're good for is running away and giving up_.

(He forcefully focuses on anything that isn't what remains of Insomnia.) 

Before Noct can say anything further, he sees Gladio approaching for what looks to be another attack. “Wait—“ he starts, but he’s unable to finish in time. He tries to scramble away, his phase magic stubbornly refusing to kick into gear, but he’s too slow to escape this last blow, the intimidating greatsword making contact with his unguarded arm. Something in his limb gives a sickening crunch and he crumples under the impact, his whole body heavy with exhaustion when it hits the ground. When he falls, he lands on his damaged arm, and fresh waves of pain again roll over his entire being. Nausea crashes over him and his sight starts to swim, the lines of his vision curling and bending before him. 

 _Shit_.

~~~~

When Gladio sees his companion weakly hit the ground, he freezes—the way Noctis falls isn’t quite right. Immediately, his greatsword slips from reality, and he lets the magic fizz out of his hands. He’s been watching the kid learn to fight for long enough to know when something’s up.

“Noct?” he tentatively asks, panting from the exertion of the match. He feels Ignis’s hand on his shoulder.

“Hold up, big guy!” Prompto shouts from afar as he runs towards the three of them.

Ignis crouches down, his face entirely blank except for the slight furrow of his brow. “Noctis,” he says, reaching to shake the prince’s unhurt shoulder.  The prince lets out a low groan, flinching away from the touch as much as his position lets him. “My arm” he chokes out, trying not to move as much as possible. He’s dimly aware of a dull ache in his jaw—is he gritting his teeth? “I think it’s—"

Excruciating pain explodes outward from his elbow as his center of gravity shifts, and all of a sudden he’s squinting against the intense, piercing light of the sun. An expanse of clear blue sky stretches out before him in all directions, interrupted only by Ignis’s shadowed face hovering above him. Everything is shifting around, shapes undulating with his tears.

“Sorry, you need to be properly oriented for this,” his tutor explains. "Hm, my apologies, again," Ignis continues, and Noctis hears the sound of cotton tearing.

"This shirt is--limited edition, asshole--" Noct chokes out through his teeth, watching helplessly as the scrap of yellow fabric is tossed aside. As tragic as it is, he savors the feeling of fresh air cool against his shoulder.

"So is your arm, idiot," Gladio says from his left. Noctis turns his head to look at him, satisfied to see that the man is doing a poor job of hiding his guilt.

"Yeah, thanks for ruining it," Noctis spits, "jerk." Gladio's brow twitches and his frown sets a fraction deeper into his face.

Prompto's face joins the other two in his field of vision, adorned with a familiar expression of worry and concern. "Noct, you good?"

Noctis shoots him a pissy look as best as he can (it's difficult for him to get his face to show any emotion that isn't unending agony). "No, I think my fucking--arm is broken-- _fuck_." He suddenly tenses up, back arching as Ignis maneuvers his limb into an accessible position. 

"Keep him still, will you?" Ignis asks as he stands up from the ground. "I'll be back soon." Gladio also takes the opportunity to remove himself with a dismissive grunt.

"Hey, hey, buddy," Prompto murmurs, his hand coming to cup Noct's cheek and his thumb swiping across the tears that have gathered there. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket (it's got a silly chocobo design on it that endears Noctis more than he cares to admit) and wipes the sweat across Noct's brow. "You're gonna be just fine. Remember that one time you broke your foot falling out a second story window at school?" He asks. Noctis inwardly cringes at the memory. "It can't be worse than that, right? At least your dad isn't here to shame you," Prompto continues.

Noctis tries to focus on getting his breath under control. "Dad's not here, but Mom certainly is," he mutters, looking in Ignis's general direction. Prompto chuckles. "Well, at least with Iggy, the healing comes first and the yelling comes later."

As if on cue, Ignis returns with a first aid kit in one hand and a crowbar in the other. He kneels down again on Noct's right, fiddles around with the bag, and immediately uncorks the intimidating looking concoction he pulls from its depth. "Hold him steady," he says to Prompto, and soon Noct's head is propped up and nestled against the blonde's legs.

"Wait, what are you planning on doing with that?" Noctis asks, eyes nervously trained on the crowbar.

"We need to splint your arm," Ignis explains quietly. "Bottoms up, highness," he adds, before bringing the vial to Noct's mouth. The liquid isn't wholly repugnant, at least until he's finished drinking it all down. The aftertaste kicks in like a slap to the face, and he can't help but sputter and cough at the flavor of what diesel smells like.

"Tastes like ass," he grumbles, wishing he could scrub out the residue in his mouth. Ignis sets to work with the crowbar, moving to align it with his right arm. The pain starts out intense, but the potion he'd been given kicks in quickly, and soon all he can feel is a vague pressure coming from his elbow and shoulder.

He tries to comment on this, but the words come out wrong. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and his lips don't move quite as fast as he's used to. He watches with confused fascination as his advisor binds his arm quickly and efficiently to the metal bar, but as the seconds drag on, Ignis's hands on his limb transform into dull shapes that feel miles away from him. It isn't long before the only thing he can hear is the oddly calming rhythm of his slowing breath. 

Noct's left hand gestures vaguely, weakly lifting off the ground, and Prompto catches it with his own. The prince's face is uncharacteristically soft as it slips into sleep, and Prompto lifts the hand in his grip to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on bruised and bloody knuckles. 

"We've got you, Noct."


	2. On the theme of tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really interested in what you think of these characterizations, concrit is welcome. Let me know in the comments and thanks for reading!!

The first thing he sees when he cracks open his eyes (they stick momentarily--gross) is a head of buoyant blond hair bobbing in time to the dulcet tones of punk rock. Prompto is standing over a stove across the room, singing along poorly but quietly to embarrassing tunes from at least six years ago.

Noctis thinks back to nights spent feeling alone together in the dirty cavities of midnight parking lots, evenings wasted away on illegally gotten vodka and poorly played levels of Guitar Hero, countless 3am fumblings on stained sheets guided only by the rumbling timbres of whichever angry, repressed, teenage band they were into at the time.

Those places are all gone now, but he pointedly doesn't think about that.

It takes him a second to fully remember the band's name. "Flip Cap Coffin? Are you serious?" he croaks out, awkwardly pushing himself upright.

Prompto jumps, turning around and flashing his trademark grin. "Noct! You're awake," he says, fiddling with some of the dials on the stove. "And hey, man, don't diss the classics. Flip Cap was the bread and butter of our freshman days."

"How could I ever forget?" Noctis replies, eyes still struggling to adjust to the light in the room. They're inside what looks to be a trailer. A light summer breeze meanders in through a window on the right, pulling sunbeams into the room. Tacky pinstripe curtains obscure most of the landscape, but he can see some slivers of dry, yellow grass beyond the edges.

He glances down at his arm, which is held immobile by a cast that looks extraordinarily more legitimate than the crowbar that'd been hastily tied to him. He must've received proper medical attention while he was out. So, they must be near Lestallum--home to the only half reputable hospital outside what used to be Insomnia.

Prompto approaches with his hands full of cup noodles, the smell aggressively tempting. "Just finished boiling up the water for these. The others are out hunting, or else you'd have Iggy's gourmet cuisine instead of my shitty ramen," he explains, spilling a few drops when he sits down by Noct's side.

"Clumsy," Noctis chides quietly. He doesn't miss the eyeroll he gets in response.

"Yeah, yeah. I get enough of that from the others," Prompto replies, setting one of the cups down on the nightstand. He stirs the other, before spinning the fork and gathering up a perfectly sized bunch of noodles. "Now, come on, you need to eat if you want to get back in the game."

He holds out his fork, but Noct refuses to play. "I can feed myself, you know," he says, reaching for the handle with his non-dominant hand. Prompto looks skeptical.

The first bite is easy enough, but it's difficult to get his left hand to cooperate when he tries to spool up another bunch of noodles. Three attempts and a handful of spills later, he petulantly lets Prompto feed him.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Noctis slowly making his way through his food, and Prompto focusing on the task of facilitating with the utmost concentration. He's got his lip caught between his teeth, the slightest furrow between his brows, and Noct can't stop stealing looks at the way the sun moves across the freckles on his nose and cheeks.

"Thanks," he says when he's done eating. Prompto shrugs, setting to work on his own cup.

"Anytime, dude," he says through a mouthful of noodles. "So how're you feeling?" he asks.

Noctis stops the wry chuckle before it's left his lips. "It hurts," he answers.

Prompto pauses, silence lingering for a second. "Your arm, or…?"

Shit. Noctis doesn't answer immediately, staring off at the corner of the room. "I mean, all of it," he eventually says, hand gesturing vaguely around him. "It's just…"

Prompto sets his dish down on the table and pushes at Noct's left shoulder, urging him to make room. It's cramped on the shitty single person trailer bed, but the way Prompto squeezes up next to him is comforting in its familiarity.

"You, wanna talk about it?" the blonde asks, idly playing with Noct's free hand. He laces their fingers together, gripping tightly for a moment. Noct grabs back, savoring the feel of the other's gun-calloused skin against his.

He takes several seconds to work himself up to it, struggling to put his finger on his thoughts and then struggling to word them. "I wouldn't even know where to start," he says after a moment, which is, he thinks, a terrible place to start. "I just… I… I miss them. So much," he eventually says, which he guesses is a little bit better.

"Me too," Prompto sighs, "It's hard to believe we're all that's left. The whole city…"

"Being all that's left is maybe the worst part," Noctis says, "Like of all the people out there in the world, _I_ was the one that got away. Not my dad, not Luna, just… me."

"Um, I think you're forgetting someone," Prompto says, turning to look at him. "A few people, actually. Like, I get you're the prince and you've got the power of the Kings of Lucis, or whatever, and like, I'm not royalty or anything, but, at the end of the day, we're in this together." Noct kicks himself when he sees the moment of self-doubt that runs across Prompto's face.

"I--that's not what I meant," Noctis fumbles, backtracking immediately.

"I know, it's just, I had people in Insomnia too, you know?" Prompto continues, "Gods only know what happened to Cheshire or Franck. Lisha's the only one I could get in touch with, and she's halfway across the continent by now. I don't know what a blood bond feels like, but I know what I _did_ have in Insomnia, and I know that it hurts like hell to lose it all." Noctis cringes inwardly--he hadn't even thought to ask about Prompto's friends.

"So don't tell me you're all alone, because I'm here with you, every step of the way," Prompto says, and Noct can feel tears threatening to prick at his vision.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice unsteady. Prompto squeezes his hand again.

"Hey, I know. And it's okay. I just--I need you to know that we've got each other," he says.

"Yeah," Noctis breathes, extricating his hand to wipe at his eyes. "Of course. But I can't… It's almost… I don't know…" he continues, again struggling to find the right words. They've got each other, but Noctis feels like he's nothing, like he's not worth having. "I... feel like… I feel like a coward for running."

Prompto shifts to sit facing him, leaning forward on his crossed legs. "You didn't run. We couldn't have known," he says.

"If I'd just paid a little more attention, if I'd been there to help fight--"

"Noct," Prompto starts softly, "you would've died."

"Maybe I should've," Noctis returns a little too quickly. _Oh boy_ , he thinks. They're picking at the lid of that can of worms a little too adventurously.

"No, buddy, you shouldn't've," Prompto replies. "I know it feels like out there, everything is happening 'cause of you. Your dad sending you off, the Nifs on our trail. It feels like it's all your fault. But in here, with me, right now, it isn't all about you, this--" he gestures between them, " _this_ isn't all about you."

Noctis lets the silence hang for a few moments, gazing pointedly at the corner of the room. "Yeah, he eventually says, unable to contain the tremor in his voice. "You're right. I'm being selfish."

"Hey, that's not what I said. If anything, you're scared," Prompto says. "Gods, I'm scared too. But my point is that even in this shithole of a bad situation, we're here together, and no matter what's happened or what's gonna happen tomorrow, I love you. You _know_ that--you have to know that." His voice cracks a little on his last words, and Noct feels his heart skip a beat.

Prompto looks so tired, his eyes rimmed red with shadows. Noct forgoes his words now, reaching to cup Prompto's face. He slides his hand back into gravity-defying strands of hair, rubbing his thumb over the cheek it lands on, before gently pulling the other forward into as crushing of a hug as he can manage with only one arm. He buries his face in the crook of Prompto's neck, rubbing his tears into the collar fabric he finds there, taking in the scent of the boy's ridiculous cologne in a deep, shuddering inhalation.

Prompto's arms come up around him too, and Noct can feel the slight chuckle that shakes the other's wiry frame. "I love you, too," Noct says eventually, words quietly muffled by the shoulder his face is pressed into.

They take a few moments here, resting together in the solitude of the trailer. Noctis can't remember when he'd last taken the time to just sit and breathe--it felt like the days from before the invasion were years behind him, like his life before was some sort of childhood memory, eons away from his present reality. The breathing helps him to adjust.

Noctis doesn't feel quite home--he doesn't know if that's even possible, now--but for the first time since Insomnia fell, his whole existence isn't totally upside down. The embrace is comfortable and familiar and oh, so grounding. His fingers tighten in the back of Prompto's shirt like they have so many times before, savoring the worn-down softness of the fabric.

Noct pulls back so he can press his lips against the other's, then across his cheeks and neck until their bodies are pressed together again and he can feel the rhythm of Prompto's breath against his chest.

The future is terrifying, and the responsibility he has is pressing down upon him hard enough that he almost suffocates, sometimes. He has nightmares--about the MTs and the daemons, his dad, Luna, everything--that leave him gasping for air and covered in cold sweat in the mornings. His arm hurts like a bitch, and he's 90% sure that Gladio is still gonna be pissy with him when he gets back.

But Prompto's body is warm and comfortable against him, existing with him in this moment, and he thinks he's ready to start mending.


End file.
